


Golden Eyes

by RedBubbles



Series: Celestial Bodies [2]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Alcohol, Cannabis, Drug Use, F/M, Fluff, Grinding, Heavy Petting, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 09:50:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11228490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedBubbles/pseuds/RedBubbles
Summary: There’s something about a lazy summer afternoon, the languid heaviness in the air, the lazy swirl of dust motes, the dancing shafts of light that play across the walls. The toxic swirl of delicious smoke, the heavy scent of alcohol, the reverent touches that 2D lavishes upon your body; an exquisite cocktail of drugs and hormones, tailored just for you.





	Golden Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I got an insane amount of requests on Tumblr to do a sequel to Space Hair, this time with shotgunning, and seeing as I had intended for the first one to include shotgunning, I could hardly refuse, could I? This can be read as a sequel, or as a stand alone one-shot. Enjoy!
> 
> [Check out my imagines blog on Tumblr (2d-imagines)](https://2d-imagines.tumblr.com)

Shafts of light cut gently shifting beams through the hanging smoke, casting the room in a muted golden light. What little light there is seems to cling to every surface as though it’s solid matter; every arch and edge of 2D’s naked torso, every curve and contour of your bare legs.

Every movement, every shift, every agitation, seems heavy, and the air clings with every inflation, and flows like liquid with every exhalation.

You roll the joint back and forth between your finger and thumb, eyes fixed on the glowing end. Your chest is tight as you hold your breath, and as soon as your eyes begin to water, you allow yourself to exhale slowly, keeping your eyes fixed on the smouldering ember as it’s engulfed by smoke.

“Don’t smoke it at that end,”

You roll your head languidly to the side, a lazy smile on your face. 2D stares back at you, his face seeming to swim in the thick, close air. Maybe it’s your vision beginning to be affected.

“Wasn’t gonna,” you reply, keeping your eyes locked on his. You hold his gaze for a lot longer than you would have had you been sober, and slowly, he raises his can of beer to his lips, breaking eye contact as he tips his head back to drink.

“Would you still kiss me if my lips were burnt?” you ask, eyes returning to the joint. You turn it slowly, and take another drag, inhaling deeply and letting your eyes fall shut momentarily, before opening them again to look back at 2D. He shifts onto his side, setting the can down and wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you against him. The faintest sheen of sweat covers his skin, evidence of both the weed and the soaring temperature. You rest your damp forehead against his skin, focusing on breathing the soupy air in and out.

“I’d kiss you if you had burnt lips,” he replies after a while, prising the joint from your fingers, “I’d kiss you if you had frozen lips, or electrified lips, or no lips, even though you’d look weird…”

He trails off as he takes a drag, shutting his eyes. You rest your chin against his collar bone, head tilted at an awkward angle to watch his face. A ripple of emotion crosses his face; discomfort as he inhales as deeply as possible, the tight concentration as he holds the breath, and then serenity as the toxins soak into his lungs.

You can feel his heart beat, thudding against his chest at first, then slowing gradually. You trace your fingers across the ever-so-faint ridges of his sternum under his skin, feeling where his heartbeat is strongest, and then where it’s weakest.

His eyelashes are splayed out over his cheeks, and you trail a gentle fingertip over them as you pull yourself up, crossing your legs. 2D doesn’t move, just exhales slowly. You place your finger on his eyelid, feeling his eyeball shift. The movement makes you giggle.

“You’d look weird with no eyes,” you say, removing your finger, and he opens his eyes again, smiling slightly.  
“I already basically ain’t got any,”  
You tilt your head to the side, giggling.  
“No, _no_ eyes,” you say, waving your hand in front of your face, “like empty sockets. Like a skull,”  
“Anyone’d look weird like that,”  
You laugh again, and he joins in, giggles rising and falling in response to the other’s, until you’ve been laughing for so long you can barely remember what you were laughing at.

His laughter slowly subsides, and he looks at you. His arm is still around your waist, and his grip tightens, pulling you against him. You shift your leg over his lap, so you’re straddling him, and sit back, letting him stroke his hand up and down your hip, toying with the waistband of your underwear every so often.

As 2D raises his eyes to yours, they catch the golden light, and for a moment seem to explode with light, contrasted so darkly by the shadows beneath them. As his gaze shifts, the light falls away, but the image of his lit-up eyes lingers, burned into your retinas. 

“Your eyes are beautiful,” you mutter, stroking the dark circles just beneath them with your thumbs.  
“What d’you mean?” 2D asks, raising the blunt to his lips.  
You pause for a moment, your lips slightly parted, trying to find the words to describe the burst of light that had spilled behind his dark pupils.

“When they catch the light,” you whisper, “they reflect it,” you draw a nonsensical shape on his chest, “I remember at a party once, you were dancing under the strobe lights, and they kept flashing red, then blue, then yellow, then blue, and your eyes looked like they were flashing with them,”

He blinks at you slowly.  
“Red, blue, yellow, blue,” he repeats, “what was it like?”  
“Trippy,” you reply, “the red was scary, and the blue matched your hair,”  
“And yellow?”  
“Yellow,” you echo quietly, your voice sounding faraway and dreamy, “golden. Your eyes looked golden,”

2D tilts his head a little, gaze fixed on yours. You stare back, half out of captivation, half out of laziness. He leans forward, kisses you softly, and then sits back, smiling.

“You’re really fucked up,” he says, eyes still on yours. With a somewhat nervous giggle, you cover your eyes, as though that will stop him from seeing just how stoned you are.  
“So’re you,” you mutter, then pout, “you ruined the moment, wanker,"

2D slides his arm entirely around your waist, pulling your chest flush against his and peppering your neck and collar bones with kisses. Your light giggles turn into a soft moan as his lips press against the sensitive skin just beside your jugular, and your grip on his arm tightens a little as you grind against him, somewhat teasingly. As he raises his head again, your teeth snag on your lip, and you give him a coy smile.

“I’m not that high,” you whisper, stroking your hand up his arm and taking the joint from him. His now free hand finds a place on the small of your back, and the other arm remains tightly locked around you, holding you against his chest, giving you very little room to exhale.

You turn your head to the side, and his lips settle on the curve of your tendon, sucking and nibbling ever so gently, leaving a light red mark that fades as he pulls away. The light scruff from two days of not shaving scratches your skin a little. With one hand on his hip to balance yourself, and the other cupping the back of his neck, you grind against him gently, the movement of your hips slow and languid. You trail your hand up the back of his neck, stroking your fingers through the hair on the back of his head, ruffling it and making it stick up a little. 

He trails a uniform line of little butterfly kisses up your jaw, starting at your chin and ending just below your ear. The feeling of his warm breath against your neck makes you shiver, and the almost involuntary roll of your hips are met by his own as he grinds against you, arm anchoring you in place, his lips and teeth on your neck.

Breathy moans and soft gasps escape your lips, and he leaves criss-crosses of fading red marks across your neck and collar bones, even straying onto your shoulders, pulling down the collar of your shirt and biting the soft skin at the junction of your neck and shoulder gently. Your closed mouth moan clearly amuses him.

His chuckle seems to reverberate against your skin, moving like ripples across a pool of still water, until your entire body is tingling and your head is floating.

There’s a smile on your lips as you lean in, and you feel it mirrored as he meets your kiss. The kiss is made of of nothing more than gentle pecks and lingering touches. He rests his forehead against yours, hand feeling for your own, and taking the joint from you.

“Don’t smoke it,” you whisper, kissing him again between words, “you’ll suffocate me,"  
“That’s the idea,” he replies, turning his head ever so slightly to inhale, so as not to burn you, and then exhaling, head angled up just enough for the smoke to pass between your lips when you breathe in.

The feeling seems to make your head swim a little more, and you sway in 2D’s lap. His arm tightens around you a little, and you press your forehead against his, a small smile on your face. He grins back, free hand sneaking up underneath your shirt, fingertips brushing up your side. His touch is electrifying.

Weed or hormones, whatever is causing this, you like it. You’re practically drunk on it.

He kisses you again, more intensely than before, hand gripping your hip, fingertips squeezing, the blunt edges of his bitten nails digging into your skin, creating tiny red crescents.

You can taste the weed in his kiss, on his lips and on his tongue, sharp and dull, sweet and sour. You lace your fingers in his hair, pressing his head closer to yours, kneeling up a little so your stomach is pressed against his chest, and he has to tilt his head back to kiss you, rising up as though desperate not to break the contact.

You cup both his cheeks as you pull away, his lips seeming attracted to yours as he tries to follow, nose brushing against his, both of you slightly out of breath.

You stay like that, suspended just above him, and then slowly sink down into his lap again, hands still cupping his face.

He takes a drag, eyes fixed on yours.

The air seems to press closer, pushing the two of you together, and his lips barely brush against yours, just enough to link the two of you together before he exhales, the smoke tumbling from his mouth into yours.

As you inhale, your head swims, and you’re drawn back momentarily to the first time you had gotten high, when you had spluttered and hacked and coughed after your first inhalation.

But you don’t do any of those things now. You press closer, hands on his shoulders, pulling him up, letting the smoke seep into your lungs for a split second before exhaling hurriedly and kissing him, open mouthed, sloppy but oddly perfect.

2D certainly isn’t complaining.

You pull away, a few errant wisps of smoke trailing from your lips as you exhale. 2D raises the blunt to his lips again, and you feel his chest rise steadily as he inhales. The joint is nearing it’s end, but you lean in anyway, pressing your lips to his and letting him exhale the smoke into your lungs, letting you inhale as though you can truly replace oxygen with this potent, delicious mix of second hand smoke.

His hand on your hips, his lips on yours, your head swimming from the drugs and the lack of oxygen, you can feel yourself getting high on the feeling of his skin against yours alone.

“My turn,” you gasp as he pulls away, sounding as breathless as your feel. He hands the joint over obediently, letting his free hand brush back a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on the height of your cheekbone.

You lift the joint to your lips and inhale, letting three words tumble from your lips in a cascade of smoke before pressing them to his.

“I love you.”


End file.
